A House of Cards
by Weltschmerz
Summary: As Weiss, they swore to protect Tokyo against the vampires that roam the city. But as the son of the master of the Takatori Clan, Omi is torn between both worlds. He swore to shun them both and live as a normal man, but will his past leave him in peace?


TITLE: A House of Cards AUTHOR: Weltschmerz CONTACT: Weissmaverick@aol.com TYPE: AU series, horror, suspense STATUS: Ongoing (01/?) WARNINGS: Violence, gore, language, some sexual content, angst, slow update rate KEYWORDS: Omi, Weiss, Schwarz, Vampires, AU SUMMARY: As Weiss, they swore to protect Tokyo against the vampires that roam the city. But as the son of the master of the Takatori Clan, Omi is torn between both worlds. He swore to shun them both and live as a normal man, but will his past leave him in peace? RATING: R  
  
A House of Cards Chapter One: Jokers in the Deck  
  
Tokyo, 2004  
  
For the city that never sleeps, Tokyo welcomes night into her borders like a nymphomaniac welcoming lovers into her bed. Night slips in stealthily on slippered feet; its arrival was subtle, yet sudden at the same time, impossible to pinpoint the exact moment. Sunlight does not exactly fade away to reveal the night, but seemed to be devoured, ripped away by the jagged teeth of some creature residing in the city's center, so that when night came it appears to be a sudden change, as if a light bulb had been turned off somewhere and everyone was still too stunned by the afterglow to realize that they were surrounded by night, thick and pitch black.  
  
For Tokyo's tourists and visitors, night's peculiar tide can often harbor a nasty surprise or two. A neighborhood that may have looked charming in the red glow of a sunset may show a difference face at night, a more sinister face full of shadow bruises and leering grins. In Tokyo's flashier districts, the incident may end with a few vulgar phrases, some stolen wallets, maybe even a fistfight or two. Once in a while, the neon signs may reflect off of a switchblade, or a gun, or a pool of blood congealing in a dark alley. Theft, rape, murder: these are the products of our times, the strange fruit reaped from our seeds. There is nothing to be surprised about.  
  
But take a few steps away from the flashier districts and bring yourself out to the edge of Tokyo, out to the very border. Things are always weaker out here by the fringe; they crumble at the edges before taking out the center. Here, the night reigns supreme, undiluted by the neon flash and winking headlights. The night is thicker, blacker, darker.  
  
There is no theft or rape here. The crimes are more bizarre, bordering on the edge of impossible, on the very fringes of insanity. Bodies seem to spew from the very earth, like overripe fruit fallen from the vine. Lives are thrown rudely out of existence, kicked free of reality with a loud snap! of bonds severing and bones cracking.  
  
But lives go on as usual, and the night comes knocking on everyone's door like a trusted friend. The city lives in blissful isolation, gagged and blindfolded. The cogs continue to turn; men kiss their wives and go to work, despite not knowing if their wives will be alive by the time they return. Children walk cheerily to school, despite the kidnappings--ah, no, the disappearances--that have been showing up in the newspaper. And florists continue to sell flower, despite the fact that it is midnight and there is not a single soul left on the darkened streets.  
  
Still, work is work, and for some, nighttime is the only time when work can be done.  
  
But even for Hidaka Ken, midnight was a ridiculous hour to be open. He stepped out from behind the counter and onto the sidewalk, stretching his arms above his head and arching his back to loosen all the kinks in his spine. A warm gust of wind brought the fragrance of flowers to his nose. A few petals flew free and were swallowed up by the night.  
  
"Kuso...looks like there's nobody left on the streets. Stay out late tonight, he says. It's White Day, the romantic boys will surely take their girlfriends out on a late stroll and stop by for flowers, he says. Trust me, I'm the master of love, he says." Ken muttered a curse and yanked his apron string loose, pulling it off with an angry flourish. "Youji no yaro...why did I believe him?"  
  
Shaking his head, Ken went back into the shop to hang up the apron. He had already swept up the shop half an hour ago, for lack of anything else to do, so the only thing left was to lock up and close the shop.  
  
The night was humid and sticky and he was tired from the day's work. The fragrance of the shop wasn't helping him any either; the flower's intoxicating sweetness kept lulling him into daydreams. He was surrounded, overcome with exhaustion and the only thing he wanted to do now was take a cold shower and go to bed.  
  
He walked back to the entrance and reached up for the metal gate to close the shop. Another warm breeze blew past him and he caught a faint smell drifting on it, something sharp and pungent. His fingers trembled and found the gate and he yanked it down with as much force as he could muster. The metal shrieked against its hinges and flew down, closing off the night to Ken's vision.  
  
A white hand flew out and stopped the gate just before it could reach the latch.  
  
Ken gasped and stumbled, falling a step back and landing on his butt. He let go of the gate and it flew back up noisily.  
  
"Daijobu?" He cried out, looking up to see a young man grinning at him [1].  
  
"Aa, daijobu yo."[2] The young man--no, a kid really--grinned at him and offered him a pale hand. Ken grasped it and pulled himself up. The boy's flesh was cold.  
  
"Can I help you?" Ken asked hesitantly, looking from the kid to his companion, a girl of about the same age. They had on high school uniforms and looked no older than sixteen, just a couple of kids out on a late night stroll on White Day. But there was something weird about them, a lewdness that made Ken uncomfortable, like he was witness to something obscene.  
  
"Yes, you can." His breath carried the scent of chocolates and something else, something putrid and sweet and ripe. The boy stepped forward and Ken instinctively took a step back. Something flared in the boy's eyes at this, a fire suddenly awoken. Hunger. The girl looked at him the same way, the hunger making both their faces look gaunt and twisted. "I would like to buy some flowers for my girlfriend."  
  
"H-hai, we have a wide selection available." Ken took another step back as he made a sweeping gesture with one hand, pointing to several arrangements. The boy's eyes were fixed upon him; he never even looked at the flowers. He followed Ken step for step as Ken made his way behind the counter. "Take your pick."  
  
"Hai, my pleasure." The boy grinned and blocked the exit with his body, trapping Ken behind the counter. Ken heard metal shrieking and turned his head to see that the girl had pulled the metal gate down. Even if somebody happened to walk by, they would not see what was happening inside the flower shop.  
  
"Save some for me," the girl said with a small pout.  
  
Ken backed up until his back was pressed against the counter. He reached behind him, fumbled against the shelves, keeping his eyes wide and frightened. The boy advanced, taking his time with each step, drawing the agony out for his prey. He bared his teeth and Ken could see that his canines were long and sharp.  
  
The scent of blood came off of him in waves and mixed with the flowers. The shop smelled like a funeral.  
  
The boy pounced and crashed into Ken, grappling him with his arms. For a moment, the two of them struggled like inexperienced dancers. Then Ken was slammed against one of the counters and the smell of blood exploded in in the air; the boy exhaled a loud sigh and blood splattered the counter and trickled onto the floor.  
  
The girl took a step forward and scowled, "Baka! I told you to save some for me."  
  
"No hurry ojou-chan. We have your share right here." Metal wires flashed beneath the flower shop's fluorescent lighting and wrapped around the girl's pale neck. The metal sizzled upon contact with the girl's skin and she let out a piteous shriek of pain. Youji clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he held her in place, "Aya, you finish the job. I just can't bear to see a woman in pain."  
  
The redhead shook his head quietly and unsheathed his sword. No matter what the mission was, Aya had never had trouble teaming up with Youji. Their communication was always perfect because he had always only had one word to say to Youji. "Baka."  
  
"Omae...yarotachi..." Ken grunted and pushed the boy's body off of him. Blood soaked the front of his shirt, but none of it was his blood. There was a ragged wound in the boy's chest, a gaping hole where his heart should be. Half of it was still in his chest cavity, beating away furiously to make up for the lack of the other half, which was hanging off of Ken's bugnucks in ragged strings. The boy, still alive, reached for it with one hand, his pale fingers straining towards the bloody lump in Ken's glove. Ken looked away from him.  
  
"Ah Ken, you're still alive!" Youji grinned at him.  
  
Ken flipped Youji the bird with his bloody glove. "It took you guys long enough."  
  
"We knew you could handle it," Youji said with a shrug. "These young vampires...they're all so gullible. What kind of flower shop opens until midnight? Really, we might as well have put a giant mousetrap out there."  
  
"You guys...what are you?" The girl whimpered, her frightened eyes darting from Ken's bloody gloves to Aya's sword. Aya narrowed his eyes at her and lifted his katana. She shrank away from him, only to be pushed forward gently by Youji. She had heard rumors about older vampires attacking the younger generations who dared to wander into their territory. Was this what it was all about?  
  
But no, these guys were definitely human. Their skin did not have the supernatural glow of a vampire, none of the blood-flushed health of the younger generation nor the unearthly radiance of the older one. They were human, but their eyes. Their eyes were those of hunters. Another urban myth grabbed a hold of her and shook her with uneasiness.  
  
A legend which floated in hushed whispers within the vampire world, half feared and half ridiculed by those of the younger generation as an old wive's tale. The white hunters in the night. The older ones never spoke of them, but a haunted look came into their eyes whenever the hunter's names were spoken, a tense silence that reeked of fear. They were usually called the Hunters, and she had only heard their true name whispered once before. What was it? She struggled to place the name, but the redhead's eyes rattled her nerves and destroyed her concentration.  
  
He took a step forward and angled his katana at her. She panicked and shouted at him in desperation. "I remember--your name, I remember it! Your name is--"  
  
"Weiss." He struck.  
  
[1] Daijobu: Are you alright? [2] Aa, daijobu yo: Yes, I'm fine.  
  
*-*-*-*  
  
"There was no style in that whatsoever, no style," Youji murmured, shaking his head. He raised his arms over his head and stretched, only to drape one arm casually across Manx's shoulder when he finished.  
  
Manx shrugged the arm off and looked Youji in the eye, smirking. "You're right. No style whatsoever."  
  
Ken snickered and flicked the towel around his shoulders at Youji. He had gotten to take his cold shower after all, but a shower just loses its charm when one has to scrub one's skin raw to get all the blood off. "Leave the woman alone, she's married. Have you no shame?"  
  
Youji nuzzled Manx's shoulder with his face. He was secretly happy for Manx and her marriage; they all were. They had all thought that Manx would never recover from Persia's death. "That's what makes her so tempting. Forbidden fruit."  
  
Manx swatted Youji off and tossed a manila envelope onto the table. Black and white photographs and newspaper clippings spilled across the table. The four of them stared at it, but nobody made a move.  
  
"You may have noticed that there's been a significant increase in vampire crimes lately," Manx began. "We've been tracing the trend since January. The movement seems to be fairly new, and aimed at young people. High school and college students mostly."  
  
"Our targets have all been young vampires lately," Aya mused and picked up one of the photographs absently. "We've been wondering about that ourselves. There seems to be an influx of them, all young and inexperienced, just looking for some fun. Like the kids tonight...they were naive. They believe the myths. They think they're immortal."  
  
"And they're messy. The crimes that have been popping up..." Youji frowned. "As disgusting as it sounds, at least the experienced vampires know how to clean up after themselves. These young ones have no table manners."  
  
Manx smiled wryly. "You're talking about the family massacres last week."  
  
"Hai." Youji drew a cigarette from his breast pocket. "What a mess."  
  
That was all Youji would say about it. What a mess. If he said more...if he said more, he was afraid he would run out of words for it. When it came to killing, Youji considered himself a seasoned pro. He had seen things-- done things, smelled things, touched things, had his arms soaked up to the elbow in things--that nobody wanted to know about, think about, and especially not dream about.  
  
But even then, there was a certain order to things. The vampires then were cruel, sure, but they weren't messy. They were bloodthirsty bastards, yes, but goddamnit at least they weren't messy. Youji wasn't sure if he could deal with bloodthirsty and messy at the same time. He might just go insane.  
  
"We think we've found the person responsible." Manx reached over and drew out a photograph from the stack in the envelope. She pinned it down on the table with one glossy, crimson nail. "Yuki Nishizono."  
  
The three Weiss members leaned over to have a look at their next target. They drew his life with their eyes. Once they had his face, his days, hours and minutes were only borrowed time.  
  
"He looks familiar," Ken said slowly. His voice had an edge of uneasiness to it.  
  
"Yuki Nishizono, the bastard son of Reiji Takatori. Currently one of two remaining members in the Takatori bloodline, and second in line to inherit his father's title as the master of the Takatori Clan. First in line, of course, would be--"  
  
"We know," Aya said quietly. It sounded very loud in the dark room. "Will he have to be involved in this?"  
  
Manx said nothing.  
  
"Absolutely not," Youji said softly, but his voice was pure rage. "Don't you dare, Manx. After what we made him do last time, don't you dare drag him back in. He's out. He's free."  
  
Manx looked at the four of them in the dark room. Her eyes drifted to the spot Omi had usually occupied when he was still a part of Weiss. It was empty now, but when the other three walked, they moved around the spot rather than through it, as if afraid that they might disturb Omi's memory. Or his ghost. He was still alive somewhere, but it was not the same boy they had known. The boy they had known had died here when she gave him his last mission. She had killed him as surely as if she had fired a bullet into his heart.  
  
"Manx?" Ken asked softly, and all three of them waited for her answer.  
  
She said nothing.  
  
*-*-*-*  
  
His house was rather simple: a small, Western styled house just big enough to be comfortable for a bachelor. He could afford better. He still had plenty of his inheritance money left, but he did not want to use it to buy a luxurious house or a nice car. Using the money always reminded him of the unfortunate connection he had to the Takatori name. It was pure hypocrisy, he knew, to shun the name and embrace the money, but Todai was expensive and the only money he had besides the inheritance money was the money he had earned in Weiss. Either way it was blood money.  
  
He had a new job now, a legit part-time job in an office where he'd never have to kill another family member or inject another vampire with corrosive serum and watch it fall apart from the inside ever again. That should have been enough, but it wasn't. The pay sucked, and he still had school to juggle with the work. No matter what he did, he always ended up making withdrawals from the bank. He promised himself each time that he would pay it back, he'd save up the work money and pay it all back, but those were just promises. He knew better than anyone else that nothing pays like blood money.  
  
It was raining outside, a light drizzle that whispered across his rooftop, and Omi wondered absently if it would get worse and ruin his date with Kyoko tonight. The two of them had been going out for nearly a year, but lately they had not seen much of each other. Partly, it was because they were both busy at work. And partly, it was his fault.  
  
He was not sure of it, but he believed he loved her. And he knew she felt the same way about him, if not more so. Perhaps she was even sure about it. She certainly seemed sure about it that night, when they had gone back to his house after dinner at a restaurant. Both of them were a bit tipsy from the wine they had drunk, and whether it was the heat, or the wine, or just the inevitability of time, they ended up on his bed with their bodies twined together and their fingers pulling at each other's clothes.  
  
She kissed him and he kissed her back without hesitation, pulled her to him without hesitation, explored her body with his hands without hesitation. But when the wine cleared and he found himself on top of her with his jeans half on and her shirt half off, terror struck him.  
  
The sound of blood rushing through his veins throbbed in his head and echoed like a church bell and the memory of his name etched itself into his brain. Takatori. The vampire clan that had ruled Tokyo for centuries, whose master had been the shadow emperor of Japan. Takatori blood flowed through his veins, and would flow through the veins of every child he produced.  
  
He was only a halfling. His mother had been human, but even she could not save him from damnation. The Takatori seed had swallowed up all traces of humanity in him and branded him with its red hunger. He could try to suppress it, but it was still there, waiting to be passed on to the next generation. He could not risk bringing a damned child into the world.  
  
He had simply ran away from Kyoko and bolted into the bathroom. It startled had her and at first she had banged on the bathroom door and asked him what was wrong. He didn't answer her, just turned on the cold water in the shower and tried to wash her smell off of his skin. He thought he heard her crying, but he wasn't sure, and he didn't want to hear it. His whole body trembled with desire, and the cold water absorbed his body heat and flowed lukewarm down the drain. The image of Kyoko appeared again in his mind, and he imagined what it would feel like to penetrate the skin of her neck with his teeth. The scent of her perfume and blood mingled in his mind, and Omi bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. He licked the copper away with his tongue and waited for it to pass. When he came back outside, she was gone. He fell asleep that night with his face buried in the sheets, inhaling her scent.  
  
That had been two months ago, and they had not seen each other since. He had called her and left a few awkward messages on her machine, but she had not called him back until that morning. He was not sure if it was a good sign or not. Either she had decided to forgive him, or she was going to break it off. Omi was not sure which one he really wanted.  
  
He heard the engine of a car and went to the window to look. A dark van was stalled near his driveway, but it drove off again a few seconds later. Not Kyoko.  
  
"You deserve it, you jerk," Omi muttered to himself. "She's not coming. Definitely staying away from a psycho like you. She's a smart girl."  
  
He sat down on the couch and buried his face in his hands. It was probably better this way. Less complications for the both of them. All they needed- -all he needed--was a little bit more time to start forgetting. It would be okay with time. He would get over her.  
  
There was a knock at the door.  
  
His mind was instantly filled with her. He sprung up from the couch and nearly tripped over it and killed himself as he ran for the door. He flung it open and she was standing there with raindrops in her hair and a small, nervous smile. They just smiled at each other, still unsure of what to do. He started a sentence with a stray murmur, then broke it off when he forgot what he was saying.  
  
Abruptly, he bent and kissed her. She tensed for a moment before relaxing into it and the smell of her perfume and the rain made him happy and a little dizzy. When they parted from the kiss, it was as if they had never parted at all. All the nervousness was chased away by the familiarity of that kiss, and the bond between them started to heal itself.  
  
"Here, come in and have a drink first." He opened the door wide and stepped out of the way for her.  
  
"Sure. By the way, there's some sort of package for you here." She nudged a small carton box in front of his door with her foot. "Haven't you checked your mail?"  
  
"I checked it this morning," Omi said. He shrugged and picked up the carton, carrying it into the house. She hesitated, then stepped in after him and closed the door behind her.  
  
"Who is it from?"  
  
"I don't know." He shrugged and tipped the carton to the side, trying to find a label of some sort. Someone had written on its side in black ink, but the dampness from the rain had blurred the letters. Omi held it near a table lamp to read it.  
  
The words "Mamoru Takatori" screamed at him in black ink.  
  
He cried out and dropped the package to the floor. It landed with a heavy thud and tipped over. Something heavy was inside, but he did not dare to look. Who had sent him such a thing?  
  
"Omi?" Kyoko looked at him with warm concern in her eyes. "Is something wrong?"  
  
Yes. Something was very wrong. Who had sent him this, and what were their motives? Was it to be taken as a threat? He dreaded keeping the package in his house, but he couldn't open it in front of Kyoko, lest it contained some...unpleasant things. He couldn't cancel the date, either. It might be his last chance.  
  
He smiled brightly at her, "Iie, nothing's wrong. Let's go now."  
  
"I thought you said we'd have a drink..."  
  
"No," he said quickly. "Let's save it for the restaurant."  
  
She nodded and he ushered her out of the house, eager to leave the package behind. Whoever it was that sent him the package had sent it to the wrong person. Mamoru Takatori was dead. There was only Omi Tsukiyono now. 


End file.
